


The Little Things

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: Clothing Kink, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kowalski misses a lot of things about being married, including the little things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

It really is the little things, you know? I got a theory: it’s the little things, because the big things are just too much to handle. ‘Cause there you are, in your new-to-you one bedroom apartment, with your cow-spot plates your previous partner gave you as a housewarming present because you kept stealing pages off her “Far Side” desk calendar and she knew you didn't have any dishes of your own. And it’s way too much to accept that it’s over. ‘Cause you just know it isn’t, not really. It’s gotta be some kind of emotional temping, an assignment you gotta go through in order to get back in the real groove. Like that time before you dropped out of college, when she had to take a break from you and you went along with it knowing that she’d eventually take you back. 

Except not so much with the taking back. And the seeing her again and again. That’s rough, too. But you can fixate on the little stuff: you can leave the seat up! You can use the same glass over and over again! Hell, why use a glass at all? And the dent in the toothpaste tube is always in the same place! 

Woo-hoo.

I dunno, though, one of the roughest little things was the panties. Weird, huh? She didn’t even like the word “panties.” Hated it for reasons she couldn’t ever really explain. Well, now I can say at much as I want. Panties. Panties, panties, panties!

That’ll show her.

But she had nice ones, whatever she wanted to call ‘em. Silk, cotton, different colors, different styles…the woman was crazy for panties. Delicates. Unmentionables. Whatever. Somewhere along the line (maybe during that break in college?) she’d decided that a new pair of stylish underwear were the perfect reward for a job well done. Not booze, not a smoke, not candy, not shoes. Nope, panties were just the thing: a small reward for herself, the prettier the better. And she sure did a lot of stuff that deserved rewarding.

So by the time we split up, she had a giant drawerful of drawers. She could got for at least two months without doing the laundry if it was only about underthings. Me, I didn’t have so many, so sometimes I’d dip into her collection because laundry never gets done often enough. The first time I did it, she didn’t know until I stripped off that night. I’d known it all day. I’d picked a fairly new pair. “Boyshorts” she called ‘em. I thought they looked like they’d fit, although how something with those lacy panels on the sides were at all boyish, I do not know.

They fit all right. A little tight, but in a good way. I felt kinda…well, supported, I guess, all day long. The lace wasn’t itchy at all, and the material was sort of stretchy and kind of rough. Except that’s not the right word. Not exactly smooth, more textured, I guess is the word I want. 

Felt damn good on my ass. And on other places. And when she saw that I was wearing them, she raised her eyebrow and asked me how it felt. So I told her while she touched me through her panties, and she was breathing damn near as hard as I was before too long, and then….

Yeah, sometimes it’s the big stuff you miss, too.

It was never a regular thing, I just took a pair of hers when I needed to, and usually we both enjoyed ourselves a lot when we got home those nights. Especially if she’d seen me put ‘em on in the morning and had all day to think about her husband and her panties getting the job done all day long.

But she never bought me a pair just for me, and I never did either, because it was a lot about the panties, but also a lot about the intimacy, too. Buying things like that just for me wouldn’t have been the same.

So now I’m in my one bedroom apartment, and I’ve got plenty of underwear, mostly boxer-briefs and the one time I didn’t have any clean, I went without. Yech, I do not see how people do that all the time; for me, well, I’m never gonna skip laundry day again. And I really miss being able to reach into a giant pile of clean panties and pulling out a pair and enjoying that feeling all day. And what used to come after.

I think by now I really am mostly over the big stuff. I know it’s over, completely. I’m ready to start looking again, for real, looking for someone who won’t mind if I borrow their underwear even if it’s probably really boring practical stuff without lace panels or weird names like “tanga” or “rio” or “boyshort.” Even if it’s just maybe a pair of boring old loose cotton boxers that have been starched way too many times, which normally you would not catch me wearing either dead or alive.

Yeah, even if it’s something like that.


End file.
